Within a year, lifetimes can change
by mikkilovesgillies
Summary: It's been a year after the fateful breakup at Tori's house, and the separation has taken its toll. Jade changes drastically, even parting with her infamous scissors, but Beck just can't seem to move on. Stuck in the past, he wishes to re-claim Jade's heart. But what if she has changed beyond repair? Rated T, just in case.


**It's been a year after the fateful breakup at Tori's house, and the separation has taken its toll. Jade changes drastically, even parting with her infamous scissors, but Beck just can't seem to move on. Stuck in the past, he wishes to re-claim Jade's heart. But what if she has changed beyond repair? **_"Beck, it wasn't meant to be. So what? I got past that, and I've figured out the key to my success. And I'm happy." She sighed, as his eyes finally met hers, and he finally spoke. "Are you?"_

I need her. Don't ask me why; I can't explain it to you. Even after the movie tonight, I found myself mentally retracing the steps I took to find her, even if the last time was over a year ago. I could picture myself jumping down from the bed of my truck, knuckles rasping softy on the dark wood of the entry. After a minute the door would spring open, if only just an inch, and her big eyes would peer around cautiously before meeting my own. A smirk would play at the corner of her lips, and she would slip outside, rather than invite me in. And we would lie down in the back of my truck, staring up at the infinite mass of stars, just like we used to. But that was forever ago, and worlds had changed between us. She had blossomed out from the lonely girl I had once knew, shedding her second skin of colored extensions and snapping scissors. From societies point of view, she had discovered perfection. From my perspective, she was now unrecognizable, blending in with the majority.

I hadn't changed, since that dreadful night we parted. Acting was still an outlet, my first love, as my dad would say. But nothing could outrank her, not even after her sudden change of heart. I knew that the girl I had fallen for was still in her, no matter how many times she had denied it to the public. No one ever changed, not really. If anything I had become more distant. I stopped spending as much time with the guys, and hardly ever went home. Both parties would voice their concern of me after the breakup; the boys cracking jokes and my parent constantly voicing their opinion that I deserved someone better. Which would make sense, coming from what I had told them. Looking back, I can't even remember why I had lied. To protect my pride, I guess. Now I just feel like an ungrateful, conceded asshole.

The truth is a terrible device, but it is necessary. Laying here now, on the bed that we once shared, I realize that. She shouldn't have been left with the blame, my blame. She was the one who deserved better. She didn't walk out on me, I let her go. We weren't hopeless, because she still believed in us, in me. And I failed her, all for a stupid game of cards. Heat of the moment, you could say. It was true that I was exhausted from the constant fighting, and that her ultimatum didn't make it any easier. But I still loved her, and she reciprocated, so there was no reason for me not to turn the handle. And yet here I am, almost a year later, still feeling the side effects of the separation. My bed foreign without her scent; the walls stripped bare of the pictures of us that once hung. A necklace, missing its twin, locked away where it won't cause harm.

I fall asleep, though it takes a while; my brain lost in thought and emotion of the past. I do not dream.

My alarm clock howls in the dark of the early morning, and I resist the urge to through it across the room. My fist does come down hard on the snooze button, however, giving me some sort of satisfaction. I slowly untangle myself from the clinging blankets, wrapped entirely around my body. It seems that in a years time, I had managed to totally forget that sharing my small bed was even a possibility. I stand, stretching my long legs and arms, as my face is overcome in a yawn. I look over at the clock. _6:00_. Much too early for anyone to be anything but asleep, let alone getting ready for school. I pull on a pair of jeans over my boxers and run a hand through my bed-headed hair. Making the few steps it takes to reach my closet, I pull the door open. Tank tops litter the floor, pulled off the hangers in a state of borderline consciousness, much like today. Numerous flannel shirts are slipping off of their hangers, but none of them interest me. Well, all except one. It was a long-sleeved flannel, much like the others, but it was checkered in black and maroon. Her second favorite shirt; the one she used to sleep in. Her favorite, the one she had so frequently worn to school, had not been returned to me post the breakup. I like to think that she still wears it to bed, hidden in safe-haven of her room, and dreams of me. But that is highly unlikely.

I pull the shirt loose from it's hanger and hold it up to the light. Day after day I yearned to wear it, but had shot down the urge. It was sacred to me, a memento of the relationship that perished. I bring my hands down, the fabric caressing my cheek. It had kept her scent, and it was intoxicating. I slipped the shirt over my grey tank top, unbuttoning the first three black buttons. I shut the closet door, finally facing myself in the mirror. Large dark purple crescents had formed underneath my warm eyes, revealing my lack of sleep to the world. But it didn't matter to me, not really. Today was the day. The day to re-claim her heart; our four year anniversary. Or what would have been, if not for that fateful day. I tore my eyes away from my tired reflection, and turned back to my bed. I laced up my black combat boots, before grabbing my black backpack, and storming out of the RV, the metal door clanging behind me.


End file.
